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Everyone was gone and I was alone on that dark and lonely hill.

The rain had stopped but soft thunder still moaned from far away.
I stood there, planted where I had been all afternoon,
my eyes transfixed on that cross in the center.
Empty now of its human burden, it loomed large and black
against a gentled night sky.

Silent and somber it stood--like me:
and it seemed that we two were communicating.

I felt invited to approach, and I did not imagine it;
It was a call, clear and strong, to come near.
I loosened myself from my rootedness and moved forward and upward.
I was not afraid, but rather drawn closer and closer, as if needed.

So close to this monument now, I could see
neither top nor bottom,

and I gazed squarely into blood-soaked wood.
I felt impelled to raise my hand and press it firmly against the living wood.
I retrieved it slowly, not easily breaking the bond of flesh to blood.
My print remained clearly etched on that altar of sacrifice that day,
and only in the radiant light of Paschal completeness am I able to forget.

                    SM Claire Kehl, CSSF

Watercolor by Sister Rosemarie Goins, CSSF Back Next